


The Beguiling of Merlin

by alesia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Affalon | Avalon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s05e09 With All My Heart, F/M, Fix-It, Merlin Leaves Camelot (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesia/pseuds/alesia
Summary: "They left me. They just – left. 'Oh, Merlin will be fine, who cares about that guy anyway.'" Merlin's face twisted with bitterness. "Arthur couldn't even be bothered to remember that he traded me away for Gwen. Some friend. Someking. He doesn't treat me as well as he'd treat the meanest peasant in Camelot. I'm just furniture to him.Annoyingfurniture, at that.""Come away with me, dear one." Freya caught up his hands in hers and tugged gently. "You are not needed here."





	The Beguiling of Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a [Merlin Leaves](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Merlin%20Leaves/works) kick lately, and there isn't nearly enough of it in this fandom so the plot bunnies have been running wild through my head and Google Docs alike. This is the smallest bunny of the lot; my original outline called for three scenes – Merlin, Morgana, Arthur – but more have crept in along the way.
> 
> The title refers to the famous [painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beguiling_of_Merlin) by Edward Burne-Jones. A few days ago I looked at it and said, "You know, Merlin could really _use_ some beguiling in late season 5." This story was the result. It's too short for a full soundtrack, but A Fine Frenzy's '[The Minnow & The Trout](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2_3feh6O4A)' served nicely as a theme song on repeat while I was writing.
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader [descant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/descant) for poking at holes and pointing out areas in need of polish. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

O come with me, thus ran the song,   
The moon is bright in Autumn’s sky,   
And thou hast toiled and laboured long   
With aching head and weary eye.

– Emily Brontë

The Dolma had cured Queen Guinevere of Morgana's enchantment. The king and queen had cheerfully ridden forth, Sir Mordred at their side. And Merlin had been left behind, _again_. He sat at the water's edge in the afternoon sun, exhausted and dispirited, clutching the ragged black dress that had disguised him as the Dolma.

The waters of Arianrhod's cauldron rippled as he screamed across the pool, his frustration too deep for words to express. Then the water bubbled up and fell away to reveal the figure of a woman: the Lady of the Lake, Freya. She came to the water's edge and knelt there, fingertips apart from the man she loved.

"They left me. They just – left. 'Oh, Merlin will be fine, who cares about that guy anyway.'" Merlin's face twisted with bitterness. "Arthur couldn't even be bothered to remember that he traded me away for Gwen. Some friend. Some _king_. He doesn't treat me as well as he'd treat the meanest peasant in Camelot. I'm just furniture to him. _Annoying_ furniture, at that."

"Come away with me, dear one." Freya caught up his hands in hers and tugged gently til he came into her arms, both of them sprawled in the shallow water, and the Dolma's dress discarded on the sand. "You are not needed here," she murmured into his hair.

"Unfortunately, I am. I've got to keep an eye on Mordred. The prophecy – "

Freya sighed. "You have already set that doom in motion, Merlin. There is nothing you can do to change it now."

Merlin pulled away, shaking his head. "What? When? I've done everything to protect Arthur! Do you have any concept what I've given up for my destiny?"

"Oh, Merlin. The Disir gave Arthur a test, but they also tested _you_. You failed. Had Arthur accepted magic into Camelot, they would have let Mordred pass into death, and Arthur would have had a long and happy reign. You have not protected Arthur from the prophecy; you have protected him from _growth_. Without learning from his mistakes, without choosing a path different from his father's, Arthur will die young. Such events are already in motion."

"Then – then I'll kill Mordred!"

"And by doing so, hasten the prophecy even more, dearest." Freya held his shoulders firm as he struggled against her; the strength of the dead had some use. "You listened to a dragon whose heart was full of bitterness, and to your uncle, whose heart is full of fear. They have led you astray. A prophecy cannot be so easily circumvented. Do you remember the story of Oedipus?"

"Oh, gods." Merlin stared at her in horror. "Everything Laius did to prevent the prophecy only ended up bringing it about. _That's_ what you think I've been doing?"

Freya nodded.

Merlin sat and drew his wet knees up to his chest, curling almost into a ball. "I just wanted to keep him safe," he whispered.

"I know, dearest." Freya gently ran her fingers through his hair. "I know."

Merlin laid his head on her shoulder and wept. She held him close until his sobs subsided.

"Do you feel better?"

"No." He rubbed at his face with his sleeve, scrubbing the tears away. "I don't know what to do now."

"Do you _want_ to go back to Camelot?"

He stared out at the waters of the cauldron. She waited.   
And waited.   
And waited.

It was getting dark when he finally decided. She could feel him tense. "No," he said with a shudder, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him. "I don't want to go back."

"Then come away with me."

"I can't while Arthur's in danger."

Freya pushed his hair back from his face with cold fingertips. "If I neutralise Morgana, if I ensure she will never again threaten Camelot, will you come with me?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes."

Freya kissed his forehead, ran her hand over his head one last time and rose. "I will call you when it is time."

He lifted his head, tears shining in the moonlight. "And I will answer."

Freya nodded, and then she let her body wash away into the waters. She had work to do.

* * *

All creatures of the Old Religion were bound together by the currents of magic, and that magic was Freya's lifeblood. She had but to think of the high priestess and she knew where Morgana Pendragon could be found: in the north, in the company of the Saxon lord Beroun. Materialising a body was more difficult. In the end, she had to wait several hours until the high priestess fell asleep, and then it took but a moment's thought to step into Morgana's dream.

A pyre burned brightly in Camelot's courtyard. Freya had never met Uther Pendragon in life, but she knew, because Morgana knew, that his body writhed in the flames. The high priestess stood and watched the fires consume her father, but in her face there was no satisfaction, only a bleary recognition that not even vengeance could fill the gaping wound in her heart.

Like Guinevere stepping into Arianrhod's cauldron, Morgana bore the scars of wicked magic. Gwen's heart had still held a spark of love, and that spark had saved her. Morgana's heart, though it still beat, was empty of both love and hope.

Freya pitied her.

"Hail, O queen," she said into the quiet.

The high priestess spun to face her. "Who are you?"

Freya might have believed Morgana's fervid rage once, but now she could taste the sharp scent of fear in the air. She stepped nearer. "A creature of magic, like yourself." Freya did not fear rabid beasts; she had been one. Besides, Morgana did not know how to harm the dead.

Morgana's face relaxed, displaying caution, interest, and behind them a deep and bitter exhaustion. "A spirit of the waters... Why are you here?"

"I have come to ask you a question, O queen."

"Then speak, and be done with it." Morgana looked back to the burning figure on the pyre and shivered.

"Why do you seek the crown of your brother's kingdom, a land whose people hate and despise magic, when your own domain cries out for its queen?"

"I have no land but Camelot," Morgana said slowly. "It was my sister's dearest wish that I claim my father's throne."

"Your sister is dead. You are the last high priestess; the crown of Avalon is yours by right. The isle of apples waits for you, and only you." Freya gentled her voice and baited the trap. "We need you, Lady Morgana."

It was true, in a way; Avalon did need a high priestess, and the isle's throne sat empty. It was also true that this particular high priestess needed rest and healing as much as anyone Freya had ever met.

Even Merlin.

Morgana's eyes flashed. "...Tell me more of your isle of Avalon. Tell me everything."

Freya hid her smile.

* * *

Morgana stepped through the gates of Avalon at daybreak. Freya watched the fae clamour to welcome their new queen, then stepped away into the streams of magic to give her beloved the good news. She found Merlin camped beside a narrow brook in the forest of Ascetir, poking at the remnants of a fire, with a knight in armor sleeping by his side. Freya knew King Arthur on sight – it was difficult to forget the man who'd killed you – but this man was a stranger. Still, she had news for Merlin, so she gathered raindrops and brook water into the shape of a body and stepped into it.

Merlin huffed out a laugh when he saw her. "That was fast, my lady." Beside him, the knight struggled out of sleep.

"It was not difficult, beloved." Freya smirked. "Morgana has entered the otherworld, and she has no further reason to return to the mortal realm." She raised an eyebrow at the stranger. "Who is your friend?"

"I second the question," the strange knight grumbled as he stood. "Who's the lady, and why's she calling you pet names?"

Merlin sighed. "Freya, light of my heart, Lady of the Lake, this is Gwaine son of Gwyar, sworn knight of Camelot and a very good friend. Please be kind. Gwaine came looking when Arthur and Gwen returned without me."

"Then he is a good friend indeed, to notice you were missing," Freya said. Merlin grimaced as he kicked dirt over dying coals. "Are you ready to come with me now, dear one?"

Gwaine laughed. "You dog, Merlin! You never told me you had a girlfriend."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Where're we going?" Gwaine shouldered his own pack.

"You're going back to Camelot," Merlin said firmly. "I'm going to Avalon with Freya."

"Like hell." Gwaine's eyes narrowed. "I'm going with you."

"You're sworn to Arthur –" Merlin sputtered.

"Give me five minutes to get out of this armor and that won't be a problem." Gwaine set his shoulders. "You're more important to me than all of Camelot put together." 

Freya reached out; her fingertips grazed Merlin's cheek. "Let him make his own choice, dearest. Respect his choice. That is how friendship thrives, after all."

"Oh, I _like_ you," Gwaine said, and then he laughed. "Where've you been hiding her all this time?"

"In the lake," Freya said archly.

Merlin rolled his eyes again, but he helped Gwaine out of the hauberk, and they left it and the crimson cloak of Camelot behind when they passed into Avalon.

* * *

There was a great deal of shouting, of course. Merlin's animosity had worn as ragged as the rest of him, but Morgana's rage burned hot and steady. She seemed fixated on some wrong Merlin had done her years ago, something about poisoning her with hemlock, and she would not back down no matter how many examples of her own perfidy Merlin threw at her. Yet it did not come to blows, though Freya despaired of them ever coming to an accord.

Then a faerie knight slipped and addressed Merlin as Emrys. Morgana froze for long moments, eyes wide and chest heaving with terror, and then she ran like a startled rabbit.

"Hold him," Freya ordered Gwaine. The knight tossed her a jaunty salute as she followed after Morgana.

The high priestess fled across the island. Freya finally found her lying on the ground by the pool of wisdom. It was famous in the Old Religion for the nine hazel trees which grew around the pool's edge and dropped hazelnuts into the deep waters for the goddess's sacred salmon to feed upon. Freya knew instinctively, as Morgana must, that no violence could be done within this holy grove. The isle's magic would not allow it.

Morgana did not move when Freya came to sit beside her. Freya waited with all the patience of the dead. She had time. She had nothing _but_ time.

When Morgana finally spoke, her voice trembled with exhaustion and fear. "The Cailleach told me – Emrys is my destiny and my doom. All this time, I've feared and hated him. And it was Merlin all along."

Freya turned her head so that she could meet Morgana's eyes. "I will not let either one of you harm the other."

"You're in love with him," Morgana said bitterly, and then she looked away. "Of course you'd let him do whatever he wants."

Freya laughed suddenly, bright and wild. "Ask Merlin how I died." Morgana turned and stared at her. "Go on, ask him. He won't hurt you. He knows better."

"But what about the prophecy," Morgana said in a small voice.

"I suggest you start thinking about what you _want_ it to mean, instead of what you _fear_ it means," Freya said slowly. "There are many kinds of doom. In a way, it's another word for destiny, and destiny is only the consequences of the decisions we make."

"I don't understand," Morgana admitted.

Freya met her eyes. "If you don't like the results of your actions, then start making different choices." Then she stood and left Morgana there to think.

* * *

When Freya returned to the great palace, the guards told her that Merlin had gone home to their little stone cottage by the shore, and he'd taken Gwaine with him. It was a beautiful autumn day, the sweet scent of apples hanging heavy in the air and the sky bright and clear above her, so she walked the entirety of the stony path down to the shore, rather than moving about with magic as usual. Merlin had left the shutters open. When she peered inside, he was sitting at the sturdy trestle table with Gwaine at his side. Gwaine sharpened his sword as Merlin scribbled something on a sheet of parchment, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"What are you doing, dearest?"

Merlin looked up and smiled at her. "Writing a letter to my mum." Freya raised her eyebrows. Merlin went on, "I figured I'd better tell her I've gotten married."

"Have we?" Freya felt a bright smile spreading across her face as she let herself inside the cottage.

"Haven't we?" Merlin's eyes twinkled as she neared. "Anyway, you don't have to worry. I'm not getting _near_ the Morgana situation. You have all that well in hand. But my mum should know about us, and that I'm not going back to Camelot."

Freya sat at the other bench and leaned her elbows on the table. "Ask her to come here. I would like to meet her, and it's safer for her here if your king comes looking."

"That's what I was thinking too. I'm also going to let Gaius know what happened. He deserves the truth."

Gwaine interjected, "I'm happy to carry your mail, but I probably shouldn't step foot in Camelot again." He laid his sword down on the table.

"It's all right," Merlin said. "My mum knows some people in Ealdor who go to market there regularly. Just give the letter to her and she'll pass it on."

Gwaine shrugged and went looking for the mead. Freya laid her chin on her hands and watched Merlin write.

"How did your talk with Morgana go," he asked absently as he sprinkled sand over a finished sheet.

"She thinks you want to kill her."

Merlin grimaced. "I never wanted to hurt her. I wanted to stop her from hurting other people, that's all."

"Well, you'll have to tell _her_ that. I warn you, she's not particularly trusting." Freya sighed.

"I haven't given her any reason to be," Merlin said softly. "But I will. I will."

* * *

A few days after Gwaine left for Ealdor, Freya noticed a knight in a crimson cloak standing at the lakeshore, shouting Merlin's name. She did not realise it was the king himself until she stood before him. He had aged since he'd slain her; his shoulders were broader, his waist thicker, and his face lined with care.

His blustering, however, was much the same.

"You must be the wicked sorceress who's beguiled my manservant."

Freya squinted at him, then nodded slowly. It was true, after a fashion.

Behind King Arthur, a knight stood at alert. He looked deeply uncomfortable and tasted of magic. Freya realised that this must be Sir Mordred, if Merlin's descriptions were at all accurate.

"I've come to reclaim him," the king went on, as though there were no possible alternatives. As though he had but to order it, and it would be done.

Yet Freya was not an obedient peasant but a druid of the wilds, and disinclined to being ruled over. This man had killed her and ground her lover down into a nervous shadow of the clever, confident boy she'd known. She owed him nothing beyond basic civility, and arguably not even that.

" _Is_ he yours?" She asked in a light, careless tone of voice. "The Dolma told me you gave him away and didn't want him back. Merlin was very hurt."

"A misunderstanding," Arthur said. "A joke, really."

"How odd." Freya crossed her arms. "Merlin didn't seem to think it was funny."

Arthur opened his mouth and closed it again.

She continued. "I once believed Merlin would be happier in Camelot, by your side, than with me. I was wrong."

"And I'm supposed to believe that my incompetent servant just wandered off, all alone, into your sorcerous clutches of his own accord?" Arthur glared at her and crossed his own arms over his chest, echoing her stance. Behind him, Mordred twitched.

Freya looked at Mordred. _Does he not realise that Gwaine accompanied Merlin to Avalon?_

Mordred shrugged. _I'd wager he still thinks Gwaine is off getting drunk somewhere._

Meanwhile, oblivious to the druids' silent conversation, Arthur continued on in a loud voice. "You can't possibly want to keep him, he's a rubbish servant. Messy, mouthy, disobedient – most days he wanders off to the tavern when he ought to be working –"

"Then you should have no trouble replacing him," Freya said evenly.

"I don't _want_ to replace him! I want him back!"

Freya gave a deep sigh. "Merlin is not a possession to be traded or sold. He has made his choice; he chose to leave Camelot, and you. If you cannot respect his decision, if you cannot respect _him_ , that only increases my resolve to protect him from you."

The naked pain on Arthur's face gave Freya pause, but only for a moment. She had only to recall Merlin's hopeless weeping by Arianrhod's cauldron for her sympathy to fade away like mist in sunlight.

Arthur swallowed, and when he spoke his voice was heavy with feeling. "He is not just a servant to me. He is – he is my dearest friend."

"Did you ever tell him that?"

Arthur's jaw clenched. "No."

Freya nodded slowly. "I will convey your words to him. However, it is Merlin's choice whether he wishes to return to the mortal realm."

Mordred stepped forward to stand at his king's side. "Emrys is well, and happy?"

"Happier than I have seen him in years," Freya said softly. "Relieved of his burdens, and free of the lies he once labored under. Yes, he is well."

Mordred smiled. "Thank you, Lady of the Lake. He is important to my people, though his task is not yet done."

"His watch falls to you, Sir Mordred," Freya said, her voice ringing with power. "I pray you find it lighter than he did."

Mordred bowed and stepped back. "I will guard the king with my life."

"So be it," Freya said. "Is our business concluded, King Arthur?"

Arthur stood speechless. Mordred looked to him, then at Freya. "I believe it is," he answered for his king.

"Very good," Freya said, and then she let go of her form. She could hear the king's voice shouting over the splash, but it did not matter.

She had to speak to Merlin.

* * *

"No," Merlin said. "I'm not going back."

"He did say he considered you his dearest friend," Freya said in a soft voice.

"I don't care. He's had how many years to tell me that to my face?" Merlin's tongue poked out of his mouth as he counted. Freya desperately wanted to kiss him. "Nine? Nine years. He's told me I'm a good friend, but I can't be _his_ friend because he's royalty and I'm a peasant. No. I'm done. Let Mordred handle it, if he wants to so badly. Let him handle Arthur right into his grave. I'm done. Fuck destiny."

Freya settled herself on his lap and ran her fingers through his hair. "I will endeavor to make sure you never regret your decision," she whispered as his arms encircled her waist, and then she kissed him.

Outside the little stone cottage, a hawthorn tree burst into bloom.

**Author's Note:**

> "I have made a man out of a Merlin." – Arthur Pendragon  
> "You fucked up a perfectly good warlock is what you did. Look at him! He's got anxiety." – Freya, probably
> 
> And here's the outline for the epilogue I'm not going to write:
> 
> Twenty-five years later, King Arthur steps through the gates of Avalon, still hale and hearty despite his age, with Sir Mordred at his side.  
> Merlin is like, "I thought you said he was going to die?"  
> Freya is like, "He would have if you'd stayed."  
> Merlin is like, "What."  
> Freya is like, "Since you left, Arthur's been relying on Mordred to tell him about magic, and unlike you Mordred is quite willing to do so. Arthur made different choices, so his destiny is different now too."  
> Merlin is like, "..."  
> Morgana is like, "Well, let's get this 'visit from a petty mortal king' business done and sent off so we can get back to having fantastic amounts of sex."  
> Gwaine is like, "I love how you think, dear."  
> Arthur is like, "You and Gwaine?!"  
> Morgana is like, "Don't be silly, I married Freya and Merlin and Gwaine all together. It's a [faerie thing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Sedoretu). You wouldn't understand."  
> Mordred is like, "Hi Emrys, do you still want to kill me?"  
> Merlin is like, "... I'm going to go take a nap. Wake me up when they're gone."
> 
> Sometimes, the best thing you can do is walk away.


End file.
